


This routine is getting old

by Vakaara



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Goku is a bit worried though, Hurt and not quite comfort, Injury, M/M, Many injuries, Pre-Slash, Vegeta has a lot of bad days, kakavege week, routines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24802603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vakaara/pseuds/Vakaara
Summary: “This routine is getting old, Vegeta.”Vegeta spat out a mouthful of blood. “Tell me about it, Kakarot.”
Relationships: Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 102





	This routine is getting old

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CapsuleCrisis for the beta!

_Age 5_

The Frasc’s fist sank into Vegeta’s stomach, and Vegeta’s knees hit the ground. There was no air left in his lungs. Desperate, he lashed out with a fist, catching the Frasc in its knee. It only laughed before twisting a painful hand into his hair. Ki charged in its palm. 

“Too bad, kid,” the Frasc sneered at him, “shoulda stayed home.” 

White seared Vegeta’s abdomen and he cried out. This was so much worse than the ki burns he’d felt during his training. He fought to stay conscious, to overcome his body’s weakness, betrayal. 

_I can’t die like this,_ Vegeta’s thoughts scurried dizzily, _Father will be so disappointed._

Snarling, tail bristling, he pushed back to his feet and flared a ki blast through the Frasc’s leg.

* * *

_Age 14_

His arm snapped under the Leatvan’s attack. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his broken limb, Vegeta swept to deliver a kick to the Leatvan’s spiked head, aiming for the less pointy bit of the chin. The blow connected, snapping his opponent’s neck with a satisfying crunch, but its comrade found an opening to deliver a powerful blow to Vegeta’s back, right in the kidneys.

Vegeta’s vision grayed, but he fought against it, forcing himself to keep moving. This was nothing, these injuries. He was a Saiyan warrior, an elite, he would not allow this primitive planet to trouble him. 

Surging back to his feet Vegeta released a wave of ki, a roar of frustration, slamming his remaining enemies into the surrounding cliffs, relishing the snap of their bones. A ki blast scored his forehead, and blood dripped into his eyes. Vegeta grinned, feral, past the ringing in his ears.

* * *

_Age 17_

Vegeta’s feet slid out from under him, and he went down snarling. The landing spiked waves of pain through his hip, down his leg. He’d taken so much damage already. Every fresh impact aggravated it. 

Three Mowr surrounded him, their bulbous purple bodies leaving trails of slime across the battlefield. Vegeta hissed, took to the air again. Shot towards one and punched it. Glanced off its hateful rubbery, slippery body and barely avoided crashing face first into the ground. 

Ki gathered around the three Mowr, twisted, flared towards Vegeta. He threw up his arms to shield himself, was slammed back through the air into a cliff. Crumbling from it, he landed on his hands and knees. The Mowr were advancing.

How the fuck were they so strong? The damn things didn’t even have limbs. This was supposed to be an easy mission. He’d sneered when Zarbon described these opponents, rolled his eyes and wholeheartedly agreed when Zarbon smirkingly assured Vegeta that he alone would be sufficient. 

That fucking slime, ruining his footing, misdirecting his blows. If he got out of this, Vegeta was never going near anything slimy again.

_Of course I’ll get out of this. I’m an elite. I’m better than this._

Ki blasted him again, and the world darkened. His ears rang, and he could barely feel his limbs. Fuck.

_I’m better than this._

He’d fucking skewer the bastards, then. Laughing at the thought, Vegeta shaped his ki into a blade around his arm, launching once more towards his enemies. Fingers numb inside his ki weapon, he plunged his hand deep into the nearest Mowr, and delighted in the scent of its hard fought blood.

* * *

_Age 22_

He was bleeding. A crimson waterfall from the gash opened across his chest. Intel had said nothing about Rabaliad blades being able to cut through the PTO issue armor.

No matter. Vegeta might be getting dizzy from the combination of exhaustion and blood loss, but that would only slow him down, not stop him. He was taking every single one of these bastard Rabali down with him. 

Snarling, he rained ki on his enemies. Some screamed and went down, charred corpses, but many dodged and chased him. Blades at the ready. 

He blocked, hit, spun out of the way. Yet some swords found their mark, collecting slices along his arms, adding to the wound on his chest. Breathing was an effort. His limbs were stinging and heavy, on the verge of disobeying his commands. 

_I will not go down like this. I am Vegeta. Prince of all Saiyans._

Tang of iron in his nose, Vegeta rallied his ki, slashed back with blades and blasts. The ring of Rabali faltered, started to break. Adrenaline surged through Vegeta, and laughing, giddy, he closed in for the kill.

* * *

_Age 27_

Every inch of Vegeta’s body ached, the rocks underneath him jagged points reminding him how low his defenses had fallen. His limbs were lead. His right eye was swollen shut, useless. The stump of his tail was a blaze of pain along his spine. Vegeta dug deeper. Those fucking Earthling rats. They were nothing. He was Vegeta, veteran of hundreds of battles with beings far more formidable than these. How dare these Earthlings test him so?

This was supposed to have been easy. A simple victory, a path out of the PTO’s wretched, careless command. Fucking Kakarot. This was his fault. 

_I will not die here. I am Vegeta, Saiyan elite, and I will be victorious._

“I guess we should at least dig a grave.” The bald Earthling.

“You mean for yourselves,” Vegeta sneered as he stood back up. He smirked at their screams of shock.

They should never have expected him to stay down from just that.

* * *

Recoome laughed and shrugged off Vegeta’s most powerful attack. He’d taken it head on as if it was nothing. Fuck.

_This is it. I’m- I’m going to die._

As a plaything of the Ginyu force. Rage shook Vegeta. He screamed at his body to move, but it wouldn’t. His energy was drained, his bones cracked, his body a mass of battered, abused muscle. Recoome laughed some more, and fired an energy blast. Too big. Fatal. Vegeta lurched to the side, sluggish, body howling in pain, and it wasn’t going to be enough. 

An impact jarred his already aching side, and he slammed to the ground. Breathing. Alive still to feel the pain lancing through every inch of him. 

Kakarot’s brat. He’d knocked Vegeta aside. 

_Inconceivable. I am Vegeta. I cannot owe my life to this half-breed._

Vegeta dragged air into his lungs, pushed into a kneeling position. Kakarot’s brat charged at Recoome, futilely. True to his Saiyan heritage, he stood up again and again. Vegeta almost respected him for it.

Recoome snapped the brat’s neck. Useless. 

After Recoome finished the Earthlings, it would be Vegeta’s turn. He dug deeper, searching for an untapped reserve. Nothing.

In the distance, a new ki. Kakarot. 

_He’s my enemy._ Counting on Kakarot for a rescue was a low Vegeta would not stoop to. And yet.

It was almost a relief, to see that garish orange. Stranger still when Kakarot threw Vegeta some of their Earthling medicine, healing him.

Power restored, Vegeta stood, smiling. Now he didn’t need to depend on anyone else.

* * *

It was too much. Frieza’s power. 

_This is the end._

He was not better than this. After all the humiliation Frieza had dealt, that Vegeta had ached to repay, he could do nothing.

Vegeta gave up.

Frieza pummeled him with words as well as fists. Weak, stupid Saiyan. A flurry of punches to his kidneys, indescribable pain. The tang of iron in his mouth. You were given every opportunity, Vegeta. Tail around his throat, choking him. 

Bored, Frieza flung Vegeta’s body to the ground. This new pain, this new humiliation, barely registered in Vegeta’s head. He made no effort to stand, to keep going. 

A wave of air, the pressure of a familiar ki raised to overflowing. Kakarot. So much stronger than Vegeta himself had ever managed to be.

The Super Saiyan that Frieza feared. Vegeta himself might not deal the blow, but Frieza would die at the hands of Saiyan just the same. 

Broken ribs grating, ruined kidneys a stabbing raw pain, throat rapidly swelling closed, Vegeta still laughed and laughed. 

At the end, after all, he would not be put down quietly.

* * *

_Age 38_

Buu released his stranglehold on Vegeta, and Vegeta collapsed to the ground. Barely a minute fighting this newest version of Buu in the afterlife, and his body screamed in protest. Cracked ribs, likely organ damage. His jaw ached, his throat grated.

The usual routine. He’d stand back up and keep going. 

Kakarot landed next to him, hair uselessly faded to black. Vegeta glared at him.

“I’m at the end of my rope, Vegeta.” Kakarot smiled weakly at him. Super Saiyan three had been a failed gambit.

They stood, side by side by side, barely keeping their feet under them. Ready to keep going. 

Kakarot had asked him for help. He could give it, Vegeta realized. They did not stand alone.

* * *

Don’t die, Kakarot had told him. As if Vegeta would allow himself to. 

Buu’s blows were crushing, jarring Vegeta’s guard. Crashing through, breaking already cracked ribs. Iron in his mouth, air punched from his lungs. Vegeta grinned through the pain. How familiar.

He kept fighting, though his limbs threatened to cease responding.

* * *

He lay face down on the ground, forcing his lungs to keep working. Every breath full of ground glass. 

Kakarot landed next to him.

“We won.”

Vegeta turned his head against the grass to bring Kakarot into view. Wavering on his feet, Kakarot stood grinning down.

They’d won. Smirking, Vegeta raised a leaden hand, thumbs up. Kakarot’s grin broadened, and he returned the gesture.

Kakarot sat down on the grass next to him. “Dende will be back soon. We’ll get him to fix you right up.”

At least Earth had such things. Magic beans and beings. So much quicker than even a healing tank. 

“And thanks.” Kakarot looked down at him, apologetic. “I know you can take one hell of a beating and keep going, but I’d rather you hadn’t had to.”

Vegeta pushed himself up on his elbows, then into a semblance of a sitting position. “I’m a Saiyan warrior. I can take a little pain.”

“I know. Me too. But this routine is getting old, Vegeta.”

Vegeta laughed, spat out a mouthful of blood. “Tell me about it, Kakarot.”

Kakarot had no goddamn idea.

A hand on his shoulder, warm and large, carefully light. Kakarot, trying to avoid aggravating Vegeta’s wounds any further. “I’m glad you’re alive, Vegeta.”

Vegeta looked at his longtime rival. Kakarot’s eyes were soft with relief. He had truly been worried, Vegeta realized, for all that Kakarot was warrior enough to continue their battle strategy despite the damage Vegeta sustained. Except for that foolish slip at the end, when Kakarot had hesitated to unleash his blast for fear of catching Vegeta.

A strange feeling indeed, to be simultaneously respected and worried over by a warrior who surpassed himself. 

“How about we figure our trade-offs better, next time.” The corners of Kakarot’s eyes crinkled with the extent of his grin, and Vegeta realized with some surprise that he enjoyed being on the receiving end of that warm expression. “You know, so that you’re not the one taking all the damage while I’m gathering power.”

“Deal.” The words fell from Vegeta’s mouth nearly instantly, and he was distantly surprised he’d been so quick to agree. Impossibly, Kakarot’s expression became even softer. 

They were warriors, and they would always get up and keep going. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t try to make it just a little easier on each other.

A new routine, perhaps.


End file.
